


Twilights and Tears and the Death of Kings

by Currer_Bell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Regency, Tragedy at Summerhall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:29:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Currer_Bell/pseuds/Currer_Bell
Summary: The tragedy at Summerhall claims the lives of King Aegon, and many others, among them his grandson Prince Aerys. The death of King Aegon brought Jaehaerys II Targaryen to the throne, but he ruled for three years only, leaving the three-year-old Rhaegar as the new king.This is Rhaella's story!He would sleep under the stars in the ruined hall, and would be inspired to compose songs for his harp, about "twilights and tears and the death of kings."





	1. 259 AC | Awakening

She woke up to find the world calm and peaceful again. It didn't feel real.The castle had been burning; the walls had been falling.  _People were screaming_ , she remembered.  _The fire..._ All resemblance of rational thinking and concentration shattered as she started to remember the fire.  _The ritual went wrong._

The fire had surrounded them. As soon as she realized that the fire was getting out of control, she had stood up, starting to say something. Then she couldn't see them anymore. She ran, wanting to get away from the fire, but it had seemed impossible. She remembered burning her shawl, parts of her gown, and her pretty little slippers. The floor had been so hot under her feet as she ran.  _Where did I hope to run to? Everywhere I looked there was fire._ She'd been sitting far away from her grandsire and her uncle, looking on at the proceedings with a smile.  _I was smiling like a fool... Hoping like a fool..._

 _They're dead_ , she suddenly realized.  _My grandfather and Uncle Duncan._

Everything was so painful. Her body ached. She couldn't stop thinking of the horror, the pain, the smoke. Everything was so overwhelming, and there was so much to remember that she almost forgot she'd given birth. How had she gotten away from the fire? How had she found a surface to lay on? 

 _I screamed. I bled. I burned._ The pain was so great it couldn't have possibly existed. 

The babe had burned too, most likely. She didn't remember the babe, only that it had came out.  _Someone was with me._ She remembered squeezing somebody's fingers as her pain started.  _It was a man's voice, and he told me to be brave. Was he the one who saved me?_

The world was quiet and calm, and Princess Rhaella Targaryen was in an unfamiliar room. A room that wasn't burning. She'd been saved. She was lying on a bed. The sheets were soft linen, though they smelled awful. 

It felt like her feet were still burning. The pain was unbearable, and with the horrible memories on her mind, she started weeping. "The blood of the dragon does not weep," her mother had told her many years ago. Rhaella hadn't cried on her wedding day, she was the blood and seed of Aegon the Conqueror, but her family's values meant nothing to her right now. She was hurt, she had lost her grandfather and her uncle and a babe, she wanted to cry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When she awoke again, a maester was at her bedside. His eyes widened. "Maester," Rhaella said in a hoarse whisper. 

"My lady." The maester bowed. "I am the maester in service to House Dondarrion."

The seat of that house was closer to Summerhall than many others. It made sense. Rhaella, however, didn't care where she was. She just wanted to know what exactly had happened. Much to the maester's distress, she tried to get herself into a sitting position, but it proved too painful. "Do you have any knowledge of what happened? Was the castle completely destroyed? Who brought me here?" 

"I... Princess, I think you should rest. Your body..." The young man flushed. "The birth was difficult." 

"I know, I was the the one who gave birth," she answered angrily. She was a woman grown, and a princess besides; she was not going to allow a lowly maester to defy her. "Tell me." 

"I am afraid I have to inform you of the tragic death of His Grace the king. Prince Duncan also perished." The maester swallowed. "Your brother... Prince Aerys, I mean-"

"Yes, I know. I have only the one brother," she snapped. 

"Well, he... he died as well." The man looked at her. Doubtlessly he thought that Rhaella would be most upset to hear of her husband's passing, and she  _was._ He had been her brother, and he had not been particularly unkind to her before their marriage. Even after they were wed, he'd been mostly neglectful and unloving rather than being cruel. However, the death of her grandfather saddened her much too greatly to leave much room for Aerys. 

"I want to write to my father," she said after a long silence. 

"Yes, of course. I will have someone fetch you quill and parchment," he said. Rhaella nodded.

The maester kept fidgeting. "Your son is in the nursery, Princess. Would you like a maid to bring him to you?"

 _The babe is alive_ , she thought. _All that pain was not in vain._ "What is your name, maester?" she asked. 

"My father named me Lyman, Princess." 

"Yes, I'd like to hold him," Rhaella told him. When the wet nurse brought the boy and placed him in her tired arms, she cried again. The babe was small, but the wet nurse assured Rhaella that he was healthy. 

"The little prince doesn't fret much. Just a bit of soft whimpers when he was hungry. The prettiest babe I've seen, m'lady," she prattled on cheerfully. The princess wanted to strangle her; how could she be happy when so much misery had just dumped itself on Rhaella's life? But the boy _was_ pretty. He didn't have much hair yet, but it was wispy silver-gold hair, and his fingers were so soft when he wrapped them around his mother's thumb. He looked up at her with large, round dark eyes.

"Are you going to name him after one of the family members you lost?" Lady Dondarrion later asked her. "He looks like an Aegon, methinks."

"No." Rhaella loved her grandfather, but the pain was still too near. She couldn't imagine calling her son by that name.

A fortnight later when Maester Lyman deemed her strong enough to travel, and the honor guard her father had sent, finally arrived, she had just decided on a name. 

 

 

 

 


	2. 259 AC |

 

Her feet burned. Long after the fire had ended, her pain would not. She'd never known there could be such pain. It lingered stubbornly, like an unwanted guest or a particularly vexing suitor.

Sometimes, when it was just too much, old prayers bubbled from her lips. The prayers she'd learned many years ago as a little girl. _I thought I'd forgotten all about the gods..._

On the way to King's Landing, Rhaella cried as she embraced the babe, cried as she ate, and as she nursed her son. She wouldn't have wept as much as she did if Lady Dondarrion had been her traveling companion. _But I don't want to play the graceful princess now._ She was alone in the wheelhouse, and it suited her mood.

She wept because of her sore body, and sometimes when she thought of her grandfather's kind smile. With regard to her husband's death, however, she was oddly calm. When their husbands died, wives were supposed to go mad with grief and tear their hair out by the roots. _He was never good to me_ , she explained to herself. _He always told me I was a foolish girl._ Yet she couldn't manage to justify her calmness.

She tried to picture their faces, but she couldn't. Large purple eyes turned into blueish lilac, and high cheekbones kept softenning into Rhaegar's chubby cheeks.

Rhaella thought of her mother too. _Her eyes will be red from crying, just like mine. She'll be mourning her father, her brother and her son._

"I wanted you to meet them," she told the silent babe. _All of them_. Aerys would have loved to know his son, for despite his cruel words and arrogant behavior, he was always very good with children.

 

  
Lord Dondarrion had chosen the captain of his household guard to accompany her with thirty of his best knights. One of them, a ruggedly handsome young man with curly red hair, often gazed at Rhaella.

She was wearing a borrowed black dress, and her hair wasn't styled as beautifully as usual. Wearing no jewels, with her eyes bloodshot, she looked half dead herself. Still, he gazed at her.

Men had looked upon her with desire since her breasts started to bud, yet this man's eyes looked upon her with some sort of devotion. Perhaps he was hiding away the lust to respect her losses. _He respects that at least._

She'd learned long ago not to excpect much from men. _When my own father gave me away to Aerys._

  
Three members of the Kingsguard had died in the fire, she'd been informed, including the Lord Commander. The young Ser Gerold Hightower had been chosen as the new Commander.

She didn't know much about the red haired knight, but he at least looked strong and rode well. _I should see just how devoted he can be. I can trust a man's devotion to a beautiful woman if I can't trust the man himself. Perhaps I'll give him a white cloak... Father would agree if I were to recommend him._

Her father would never be a strong king, she reflected. He'd always been easy to impress. _Have we ever been as weak as we are now? Half our family died in the flames, and now my father, my soft bookish father is wearing the crown._

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't get this out of my head. Forgive me!


End file.
